Paladin
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Most hopeful season sacked for deep loss
by Mark Bradley, Atlanta Journal Constitution
At 8:35 p.m. Saturday, an entire franchise shuddered. Mike Vick scrambled, as Mike Vick is wont to do, and just shy of the 10-yard line he sought to avoid Baltimore's Adalius Thomas. With Thomas grabbing him high, Vick's feet took divergent paths. Both seemed to catch in the Georgia Dome's prized new FieldTurf, which is said to be more forgiving than other forms of ersatz grass but may have given too freely this time.
Vick went down and stayed down. He has done this before, but this seemed different. He had fallen oddly, awkwardly. It hadn't been the violent head-on hit that everyone in the organization fears; he'd simply run and gotten tackled, his legs twisting underneath him. By 8:36 p.m. Saturday, an entire franchise was trying to imagine how a season without Mike Vick might play out. Trying to imagine, not liking what it saw.
For Vick, it had been a frustrating night already. This was his fourth series, and he hadn't generated a first down or even completed a pass. He was sacked on the game's first snap. On the second, his pass was batted and intercepted. On the Falcons' second series, Vick threw a third-down incompletion and was razzed by Ray Lewis, of whom you've heard. The fierce linebacker was unusually demonstrative by preseason standards, and there were times when you could look down and almost hear him shouting, "This isn't 'Madden,' kid!"
The Falcons entered this preseason on a wave of hope almost unprecedented in their history, but all hope begins and ends with Vick. Doug Johnson can win a few games, but he can't win a Super Bowl. By 8:37 p.m., an entire franchise was holding its breath and 60,000 season-ticket buyers were wondering if their purchase bore the caveat "If Vick gets hurt, you get your money back."
Vick removed his helmet but didn't try to get up. He seemed to know he was hurt worse than he'd been last season against Tampa Bay, worse than in the playoff game in Philly. He wasn't banging his fist on the prized new FieldTurf, but the newly minted "Madden 2004" cover subject had to be wondering if he'd just run his last play of 2003.
Was it a knee? An ankle? Was it a break, a sprain, a tear? Would he miss a month, two months, the whole blasted season? At 8:38 p.m, a golf cart was dispatched to bear Vick away for diagnostic purposes, a franchise by now almost hoping against hope. The promise of a banner autumn dashed 10 minutes and 40 seconds into the second exhibition? Say it ain't so.
At 8:39 p.m., Vick was lifted onto the cart. Thomas walked over and offered a conciliatory word, which was nice but unnecessary. Two big, fast men had just been playing football, and when big, fast men play football, untoward things can happen. And then Vick was gone, off on the cart and under the stands, and for the longest time there was official silence. Finally, at 9:08 p.m., came this announcement in the press box: "Mike Vick's right ankle is being X-rayed." About that time, unofficial word began to circulate that it was a high ankle sprain, and that sounded like the sunniest scenario possible. Yeah, sprains can be tricky and all that, but at least no ligaments were torn. At least no bones were broken.
But wait. At 9:16 p.m., another announcement: "Michael Vick has a broken right fibula." And then an entire franchise wept. The fibula is the smaller of the two bones in the lower leg, but it's a bone and broken bones need time to mend. The regular season commences in 22 days. Donovan McNabb broke a bone in his leg last season and missed eight weeks, returning for the playoffs, but the Eagles without McNabb still had a first-rate defense. Is anything about the Falcons truly first-rate except Vick?
We've all said it all along, saying it so often that it has become the football equivalent of knocking on wood: "This could be a terrific season if the Falcons avoid the big injury." At 8:35 p.m. Saturday, the big injury arrived. Mike Vick broke his leg.
by Mark Bradley, Atlanta Journal Constitution
At 8:35 p.m. Saturday, an entire franchise shuddered. Mike Vick scrambled, as Mike Vick is wont to do, and just shy of the 10-yard line he sought to avoid Baltimore's Adalius Thomas. With Thomas grabbing him high, Vick's feet took divergent paths. Both seemed to catch in the Georgia Dome's prized new FieldTurf, which is said to be more forgiving than other forms of ersatz grass but may have given too freely this time.
Vick went down and stayed down. He has done this before, but this seemed different. He had fallen oddly, awkwardly. It hadn't been the violent head-on hit that everyone in the organization fears; he'd simply run and gotten tackled, his legs twisting underneath him. By 8:36 p.m. Saturday, an entire franchise was trying to imagine how a season without Mike Vick might play out. Trying to imagine, not liking what it saw.
For Vick, it had been a frustrating night already. This was his fourth series, and he hadn't generated a first down or even completed a pass. He was sacked on the game's first snap. On the second, his pass was batted and intercepted. On the Falcons' second series, Vick threw a third-down incompletion and was razzed by Ray Lewis, of whom you've heard. The fierce linebacker was unusually demonstrative by preseason standards, and there were times when you could look down and almost hear him shouting, "This isn't 'Madden,' kid!"
The Falcons entered this preseason on a wave of hope almost unprecedented in their history, but all hope begins and ends with Vick. Doug Johnson can win a few games, but he can't win a Super Bowl. By 8:37 p.m., an entire franchise was holding its breath and 60,000 season-ticket buyers were wondering if their purchase bore the caveat "If Vick gets hurt, you get your money back."
Vick removed his helmet but didn't try to get up. He seemed to know he was hurt worse than he'd been last season against Tampa Bay, worse than in the playoff game in Philly. He wasn't banging his fist on the prized new FieldTurf, but the newly minted "Madden 2004" cover subject had to be wondering if he'd just run his last play of 2003.
Was it a knee? An ankle? Was it a break, a sprain, a tear? Would he miss a month, two months, the whole blasted season? At 8:38 p.m, a golf cart was dispatched to bear Vick away for diagnostic purposes, a franchise by now almost hoping against hope. The promise of a banner autumn dashed 10 minutes and 40 seconds into the second exhibition? Say it ain't so.
At 8:39 p.m., Vick was lifted onto the cart. Thomas walked over and offered a conciliatory word, which was nice but unnecessary. Two big, fast men had just been playing football, and when big, fast men play football, untoward things can happen. And then Vick was gone, off on the cart and under the stands, and for the longest time there was official silence. Finally, at 9:08 p.m., came this announcement in the press box: "Mike Vick's right ankle is being X-rayed." About that time, unofficial word began to circulate that it was a high ankle sprain, and that sounded like the sunniest scenario possible. Yeah, sprains can be tricky and all that, but at least no ligaments were torn. At least no bones were broken.
But wait. At 9:16 p.m., another announcement: "Michael Vick has a broken right fibula." And then an entire franchise wept. The fibula is the smaller of the two bones in the lower leg, but it's a bone and broken bones need time to mend. The regular season commences in 22 days. Donovan McNabb broke a bone in his leg last season and missed eight weeks, returning for the playoffs, but the Eagles without McNabb still had a first-rate defense. Is anything about the Falcons truly first-rate except Vick?
We've all said it all along, saying it so often that it has become the football equivalent of knocking on wood: "This could be a terrific season if the Falcons avoid the big injury." At 8:35 p.m. Saturday, the big injury arrived. Mike Vick broke his leg.
